Happy Haunting
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Oneshot set before "Judgment Day". It's Halloween in Los Angeles and one of the patients has escaped the asylum.


Happy Haunting

It was Halloween night, all the kids in Los Angeles were out trick-or-treating. People opened their doors and greeted all kinds of colorful characters, not as simple as olden days when everybody dressed as a hobo or a ghost or an Indian. Now it was Frankenstein's monster, Dracula, Tarzan, Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, the Addams Family, M*A*S*H, Gilligan's Island, Batman, Sesame Street, Raggedy Ann and Andy, martians, pirates, police, firemen, pumpkins, skeletons, and still a few fine ghosts.

The ghost that stepped up to the front door after the menagerie of smaller trick-or-treaters turned around single-file and headed down the sidewalk, was much taller than the ladybug, witch, bumblebee, butterfly, convict, clown and spaceman who had preceded him. He stood nearly six feet tall and was garbed in a large white sheet that had been decorated with two large black eyes, complete with large lashes, two tiny slits for the nose and a mouth with an exaggerated amount of red lipstick drawn all around it.

"Well," the old woman in her nightgown and bathrobe who answered the door said as he came up to her, "Aren't you a big ghost?"

"Madam," a muffled voice from under the sheet said as the ghost mouth just barely moved in time with the wearer's words, "would you be willing to spare some goodies for a wayward ghost who must be on his way-ward?"

The gray haired woman giggled and said, "Aren't you cute." She reached into the bowl on the stand by the door and picked up one of the popcorn balls she'd made and wrapped in cellophane and dropped it in the brown paper sack that somehow just seemed to appear from under his costume.

"Bless you," the ghost told her, "a thousand blessings upon your home, and may the spirits of the night pass you over in peace." With that, he turned and shuffled down the sidewalk and into the night.

The ghost made his way down the dimly lit streets and found himself a place in a group of kids on nearly every block he went to. Every house they stopped at, he would take his place in back of the line behind the bat, the giant strawberry, the dogs, the space invaders, the GI Joes, the Barbies, the robots, the cowboys, the ball players, the mummies, the goblins, the scarecrows. Sometimes he talked with the kids as they headed up to a house, he told them who he was and they all laughed because they thought his name was funny. Other packs of kids he just joined in the back of the line without their noticing. He waited his turn at every house, let all the little ones go on ahead, get their treats and head for the next house. Sometimes he spoke with the adults handing out the candy and the cookies and the coins, sometimes he only offered the mandatory greeting, "Trick-or-treat!" Some of them commented that he seemed too old to be out trick-or-treating, others just laughed at how creative the kids were getting, one older woman thought that it was two kids sitting on each other's shoulders to play a trick on her. But they all doled out the candy bars and suckers and caramels and apples, jack-o-lanterns made out of popcorn or Kix cereal, quarters to buy some candy tomorrow since they'd run out.

All the houses were different, some had jack-o-lanterns burning on the porch, a few house went with a bit more elaborate decoration, most were as plain as a mud puddle. And the people there were different too, most were friendly and welcoming, but some, most notably those with men answering the door instead of mothers or kind old women, refused service to the ghost claiming 'no treats for grownups'.

At these instances, the ghost would hiss deep under his sheet and point at them with a linen clad finger and say in a deep macabre voice, "A pox upon you for the next year, who would turn away a returned spirit in search of sustenance for the long journey back to the realm of the dead." Then he would turn around and stalk off, leaving the homeowners scratching their heads in confusion.

For the most part though, the people answering the doors were as friendly as the children he followed.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said to a woman who dropped a handful of peanut butter cups into his sack, "Happy Halloween!"

"The spirits thank you, miss," he told another one who was handing out reddish yellow apples, "may you have nothing but good luck all the coming year."

"Ahh," he said when an old woman dropped some quarters in his sack, "traveling fare for the ferryboat up the River Styx. Just what every wandering spirit needs. Bless you, madam."

As it went on 9 o' clock, the ghost, who now had accumulated a pretty full sack, reached under his costume and took out a small transistor radio and turned it on, thumbing through the stations until he found one broadcasting a news bulletin.

"-are advised to get off the streets and return to their homes. The escaped mental patient is described as a white man in his 30s, approximately 6 feet tall and thin, with brown hair, brown eyes, and is considered extremely dangerous. If you see him, do not make contact, notify your local police department-"

The ghost made a muffled sound under his costume and commented, "How do you like that? Even Halloween's not safe to go out."

Lights suddenly came up the street and a familiar van came into view and neared the curb alongside the sidewalk where the ghost was walking.

"Hey Murdock!" Face called as he half leaned out the passenger side window, "where've you been? We've been out looking all over for you!"

The ghost stopped, and turned towards the van, and walked over to them.

"Hey Face guy," he said, still muffled through the sheet, "How'd you know it was me?"

"You're kidding, right?" Face asked, "I know your walk anywhere." Even when both of his feet were concealed under the large white sheet he was wearing.

"What're you doing here?" Murdock asked.

"Get in here!" Face pointed to the door.

The ghost grabbed at the mouth and pulled it up to give himself actual room to speak and commented, "That sounds like a good idea, there's a dangerous person on the loose."

"We know," Hannibal said, "they've been reporting it for half an hour."

The door opened and the six foot tall ghost entered the van and sat in the back next to their colonel.

"Welcome aboard, Captain," Hannibal commented, "where've you been?"

Murdock pulled off his costume and held up his brown paper bag. "This trick-or-treating's a pretty neat racket, pity it only comes once a year. Lookit this, Colonel, I made five dollars in quarters."

"Oh brother," B.A. rolled his eyes as he drove them out of there.

"Murdock, we were supposed to pick you up at the V.A.," Face said, "why didn't you wait for us?"

"I'm sorry, Face, but the window of opportunity opened up and I just had to jump through it."

"We understand, Murdock," Hannibal said, humoring the pilot. "That's a nice costume, but what exactly are you supposed to be?"

"It's something new I came up with," Murdock held up the sheet to show off the face, "Punchy Ghost."

Looks were exchanged and nobody said anything until Hannibal finally said, "Well, it's a neat idea, Murdock, but I'm afraid I don't get it."

"Don't worry, Colonel," Murdock replied, "everybody at the V.A. already_ got_ it."

* * *

The clock chimed the hour. Midnight. The Witching hour. The official end of Halloween, though it actually wouldn't be over until the light of day the next morning when the town awoke to a holiday hangover of discarded pumpkins strewn all over the streets and toilet paper swinging from their trees, and kids awoke from a mini sugar coma having consumed all their candy, and cookies and cakes and apple cider and soda pop from the parties they went to the night before. It had been a nice, fairly quiet night at the latest house that Face had scammed them. They'd watched old horror movies on TV and enjoyed one night that they got to hang out together without the Army chasing after them or any pressing missions to go on.

Hannibal returned to the living room and almost laughed at the sight before him. Murdock had fallen asleep half sitting up on the couch with a half eaten popcorn ball pressed between his hands. It had been obvious for a while that the pilot was tired, after he'd eaten about half the candy he'd procured that night, he'd been starting to nod off shortly after taking a few bites from the popcorn ball, and slurring his words as he rambled on about the woman who gave it to him reminded him of his grandma, saying what a kind and generous woman she'd been and something about may the undead spirits that returned to Earth every year for Halloween pass her by and leave her in peace. Typical Murdock that everybody knew better than to try making any sense of, let alone asking about.

Grabbing the remote, Hannibal switched off the all night black-and-white horror movie marathon, and went to take the popcorn ball away from Murdock and put it away for him for the morning, instead Murdock curled on his side and pressed it firmly against his chest and murmured in his sleep, "'alloween's like Christmas."

"What's that, Captain?" Hannibal asked.

One eye opened, barely, then the other joined, and a tired smirk formed on the pilot's face as he seemed to curl his whole body around the popcorn ball to prevent it being taken away from him, and answered, "Trick-or-treating is today as the wassailing of old...go door to door during the holiday, greet the people and get something to eat...only difference is wassailers never threw eggs...probably never had to...other difference is wassailers never get turned away for being too old. Good thing for costumes." He craned his head all the way back with a deep yawn, then his eyes were closed again and he was out like a light, still merrily clutching the half-eaten treat.

Hannibal patted the sleeping man on the shoulder and murmured, "Happy Halloween, Murdock." He turned and saw Face and B.A. standing in the entryway to the living room and nodded towards Murdock, "B.A., why don't you take Murdock up to the guest room?"

"Yeah sure, Hannibal," B.A. tiredly grunted as he stepped past the colonel and lifted the sleeping man in his arms. "Come on, you crazy fool."

Murdock hummed something in his sleep that sounded like a half audible "Thanks", and still held the popcorn ball tight in his hands. "Don-don't take it 'way from me."

"Ain't nobody taking your crazy popcorn ball from you, fool," B.A. told him, "now wake up and go to sleep."

"Oh boy, what a night," Face tiredly sighed as he and Hannibal sat on the couch.

"Have you figured out how you're going to sneak him back in to the V.A. in a couple days?" Hannibal inquired.

"Who's sneaking? I'm taking him in through the front door," Face answered.

Hannibal grinned, "I like it, Face."

"You would, it's your idea," he replied. "Why-"

Hannibal raised a finger to his lips, cuing Face to keep his voice down and not wake Murdock.

"Why is he so hung up on that thing?" Face asked. "I used to sneak out of the orphanage to go trick-or-treating as a kid, those popcorn balls might as well have been a rock, how can anybody eat them?"

"Who knows?" Hannibal replied. "Nostalgia's a powerful thing."

Face shook his head. "I don't get it, Hannibal. We had this all planned, I'd go in, get him out, we'd be here at 7...Murdock knew what the plan was..."

"Apparently he had his own plan and just had to run with it," Hannibal said. "Given we actually found him, I'd say it worked out."

"Yeah, but I wonder _how_ he did it," Face responded.

* * *

2 days later an unmarked white van pulled up in front of the V.A. Face and B.A. stepped out in white coverall uniforms, both wielding large nets, meeting with the doctor as he came out.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well I have seen some _weird_ things as a dog catcher," Face chewed the doctor out, "but I ain't never seen _nuttin_ like this."

They went around to the back of the van and threw open the doors and revealed Murdock crammed into a cage for a German shepherd, barking and snarling like a dog.

"We took a wild guess he was one of yours," Face said.

"Oh yes, Mr. Murdock," the doctor said, "he...slipped away from us a couple days ago."

Several other members of the staff had come out to find out what was going on, and both Face and B.A. couldn't help but notice that all of them were sporting the same fashion statement: a couple days' old black eye. Punchy Ghost, _indeed_.

"Well, Mr. Murdock," the doctor approached the cage, and the man inside suddenly became quiet, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Just keeping tradition alive, doc," Murdock answered nonchalantly as he looked up at the doctor. "Any mail for me while I was gone?"


End file.
